Darkness. Silence. The weight of the earth pressing down.

Death had come suddenly for Lucian Vael Zephiran, the absolute ruler of the Obsidian Dominion of Zephiran. One moment, he stood above all—an emperor feared across nations. The next, betrayed, stabbed in the back by those he had once trusted.

And then—buried.

Not in a grand tomb. Not in a monument befitting a ruler of his caliber.

No. They had thrown him into a pit, a forgotten grave, as if he were nothing more than a discarded relic of history.

The soil above him was heavy, crushing, suffocating. A final humiliation. The weight of his own empire, now fallen into the hands of traitors, mocked him even in death.

He could not move. Could not scream. Could not fight back.

And then… it appeared.

A creature beyond imagination.

Not a god. Not a demon. Something worse.

It had no true form—just a mass of writhing horrors, shifting mouths and endless, watching eyes.

Lucian wanted to move, to speak, to fight.

But he couldn't.

It spoke, its voice the sound of reality fracturing.

"You did this."

And then—

Light.

A sharp inhale, his chest rising suddenly. The feeling of air in his lungs—he had a body.

He bolted upright, gasping, feeling the weight of silk sheets, the warmth of candlelight flickering in the dim room.

His room. His old room.

Lucian Zephiran had returned.

But something was wrong.

He rushed to the mirror, expecting to see the familiar raven-black hair, a deep shade so dark it absorbed the light around it, cascading in a sharp, well-groomed wave past his shoulders. Expecting to see the piercing silver-gray eyes that once made even the strongest men avert their gaze.

Instead—

His hair, once the color of midnight, had dulled, now a shade lighter, almost an ashen black. His eyes, which had once burned with silver intensity, now held a faint, almost eerie glow, the gray infused with streaks of a deeper, unreadable hue. A color that had never belonged to him.

His pulse quickened.

Something has changed.

A knock on the door.

"Enter." His voice was calm, but his mind raced.

The door opened, and an elderly man in palace robes stepped in. His presence alone commanded respect and loyalty.

Varos Greith, the Grand Steward of Zephiran. A man who had served Lucian faithfully until the bitter end.

Lucian's fingers curled slightly. This man should be dead.

And yet, here he was.

Varos bowed deeply. "My lord, you've awakened early today."

Lucian stared for a moment before his lips curled slightly. He would not show doubt.

"Prepare my clothes," he said. "I will be stepping out today."